


Pierce the Sun

by Musicfight23



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Character Development, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Modern OC, OC has no knowledge of Thedas, Semi realistic, main character has no powers, some horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musicfight23/pseuds/Musicfight23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a modern woman is summoned to Thedas? She’s imprisoned to start with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fade Away: REDUX

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first fanfiction. I hope I'm off to a good start. This is my take on the Modern Girl in Thedas scenario. I'll try to make it a realistic as possible, but any more realism and she won't survive past chapter two. 
> 
> I've got this story planned out to take place from the Fifth Blight all the way through the Trespasser DLC so sit back and enjoy the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is my first fanfiction. I hope I'm off to a good start. This is my take on the Modern Girl in Thedas scenario. I'll try to make it a realistic as possible, but any more realism and she won't survive past chapter two. 
> 
> I've got this story planned out to take place from the Fifth Blight all the way through the Trespasser DLC so sit back and enjoy the ride.
> 
> 5/20/2016: Hello! It's been a few months...yeah, sorry real life got a hold of me and I had to put this on hold for a bit. Good news is I'm back (yay!). I got a beta (whoohoo!) and I decided to re-write the current chapters until we get to Chapter 6 (what?). Yep. I'm re-writing the opening chapters due to some advice form the beta and me figuring out that a few plot points weren't going to work. So I am changing the story around a bit. Don't worry, it will still follow the basic outline. I just added a few changes that I believe work so much better. Enjoy!

A sky of emerald green is the first thing I notice. The brilliant color affects the scenery like a fog, distorting my sight like a Funhouse mirror where the slightest shift in movement alters the image. Once my eyes adjust, winding paths lay stretched out before me. Some twist upwards curling around large slabs of rock suspended in midair while others lay submerged under oily water. Yet, what stands out the most beyond the alien sky and the scenery, is a city. Surrounded by tiny islands, the metropolis floats high above the landscape, pitch black against the green sky. Drawn to it, I set off on one of the many paths to get a closer look when the air begins to swell with odd chanting making me wake up.

Shadows of the dream still linger when I get ready for the day. The dream unusual with its green sky and floating city left enough of an impression on me I felt disappointed it ended so soon. Realizing I was getting attached to what was likely a reaction to some spicy food, I laughed and brushed it off forgetting about the dream as the day wore on. It was not until I fell asleep again later that night the alien sky and landscape appeared again in my dreams. I was excited to get another chance to reach the city, but, after a few nights, it was getting old seeing bright green sky and worn paths. Shortly after, the dreams started to change not only in appearance, but also in intensity.

I could not wake up once the dreams started--not easily at any rate. I had to rely on tricks such as wiggling my toes until I could feel my physical body mimic the action or scale one of taller paths and jump off to create the sensation I was falling in order to wake up. Scared of the new effect, I tried staying awake believing, if exhausted enough, I would be too tired to dream. Bad idea on my part as it made the dream seem more real. I would wake up feeling that not only did I not get any sleep, but also my legs would throb as if I had actually traveled the twisting paths under the green sky.

I did not know what was happening to me. No information turned up regarding cases similar to mine and I did not want to chance any medication that would make it harder for me to wake up. The idea of openly speaking to somebody about what was going on was terrifying. Being labeled crazy was a real possibility, so I kept silent, hoping I could resolve the problem on my own. Unfortunately, it made my waking life more difficult. Co-workers whispered when I walked by noting my work had clearly taken a dive from its normal quality. My parents called often wondering why I was so distant and hearing the exhaustion in my voice had them worried enough to ask if I needed them to fly down to see me. Friends shared worried looks and tried not to mention the large bags under my eyes or the way I would tense up looking at a friend’s dress in the same startling green as the all too familiar sky.

After more weeks of dreaming, I relented. Stubborn as I was about keeping everything under wraps, it was taking a toll and I decided, crazy or not, I would see a doctor. It would be embarrassing to write down and speak about the dream, but necessary if someone was going to figure out what was wrong with me. Happy with the news that I would see a specialist later this week, I dressed in my most comfortable pajamas and settled into bed lulled by the sounds of the late night traffic. Soon, the dream would be nothing more than a distant memory. I fell asleep quickly with a smile on my face.

The black city hangs above the warped landscape as always, creating an air of mystery in contrast to the brightness of the emerald sky, but new changes occurred since I first set eyes on the city. Gnarled red plants have gown on the twisted paths along with some odd rocks with spidery veins that glowed blue. The ghostly figures that startled me when I first witnessed them wander along the paths now get nothing more than a passing glance from me.

Sighing, I begin to walk not caring where I went, simply biding my time until I begin the process to wake up. I had tried to sleep in the dream once, but it had…bad results. Shivering at the memory, I cannot help but notice the dream feels incredibly real—more so than usual. I can feel the impact of my feet on the pathway and feel the rough texture of the terrain dig into my skin. The dark silhouette of my shadow moves with me and I do not recall having one in previous dreams. I am even aware of being able to breathe in the air, and smelling the sharp scent of ozone. The ghostly beings I normally see wandering the landscape appear more solid than ever, especially one in particular.

Standing before me blocking the path, dressed in long robes of red and gold, is a man with mousy brown hair and wide dark eyes. Our gazes meet and I feel a jolt of surprise as he opens his mouth and speaks.

“Decided to show yourself, then?” he asks, his voice strangely textured, echoing in the surrounding space. Stunned at the question, I do not say anything. The figures in the dream walk around or stand in utter stillness, but they never talk. He sees my surprised expression and smiles. I have to squash the urge to throw up. His smile is not normal, it stretches too widely to be physically possible, practically ear-to-ear.

“Not the mage, I see. How unusual...” His voice deepens and something slithers under his skin making it ripple. The nausea worsens and I reflexively begin to wiggle my toes.

Wake up.

I hear chanting, whispers at first, then rise in volume. The man tilts his head, listening, and makes a noise of disgust.

“Foolish. The mage still tries to summon me as if I was a dog meant to heel at his call. Pitiful, but perhaps…” The man looks at me again, and before I can blink, he is right in front of me.

 _Wake up_ I thought wiggling my toes and feeling my nails sink into the palms of my skin.

“You will be enough.” He grips my arm, but the hold, while strong, is awkward. His hand acted as though it was supposed to be much larger than it currently was. I give up wiggling my toes and begin to struggle, but the man just laughs, making my insides squirm in terror.

Oh God, please, let me wake up.

The chanting seems to reach a crescendo, the voice loud and swirling around us. The man leans in and whispers as all goes quiet.

“The mage may be foolish, but he was looking for me. Remember to keep your wits about you, girl…be sure to watch your step.”

The chanting resumes, and the world, the black city, the man holding me in place shrink with a sharp finality that leaves my body fighting itself. My bones whine as if an invisible force tries to compact them into something smaller. I cannot get enough air into my lungs and my vision begins to grey around the edges. My ears pop, and for a moment, I am floating until everything rushes back at once making my legs crumple under me. Luckily, I brace myself in time to keep my head from striking the floor while I suck in damp air. All around me, I hear shouts and am glad someone heard me while I was dreaming. I shook my head slowly letting the stone floor cool me down. No more. I was checking myself into a hospital as soon as possible and getting help. That last dream was ridiculous. Be sure to watch your step. Asshole.

It is only after I catch my breath I realize something is very wrong. I do not have stone floors in my apartment and certainly not ones with strange glowing red symbols with steam gently rising from them. The shouting I took for concerned neighbors is in a harsh language I never heard before. Sounds of scrapping metal point out nearly all the feet near me are encased in armor. Shivering, I keep my face close to the floor feeling like a child believing that if you did not acknowledge the monsters in the nightmare you could still wake up.

A hand grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me up to stand. The pain races down my neck and spine. Gasping and try to grab hold of the appendage, but my nails slide over metal. The voices continue to talk among themselves, but now I had faces to identify them.

Impressions ranging from icy grey eyes, hooked nose, and soured looking skin made up the man who gripped my hair tight enough, I could feel the armored digits digging into my skull. The man next to him was dressed similar to the one in the dream, with unsettling dark eyes that made it appear no light reflected in his gaze.

I should have sought help before it had gotten this far. I should have seen a doctor instead of trying to handle this on my own. I could feel tears gather in the corner of my eyes, from the pain and realized this was too real to be a dream. It did not stop my last thought before I saw an armored fist aim for my face.

 Please, someone, wake me up. 


	2. Prisoners and Blood REDUX

The blow dazed me enough that I did not put up a fight as men in armor dragged me down a narrow hallway lit by burning torches. I barely made a sound beyond a small whimper when shoved into a dank cell. As the cell door slammed shut, I sat in shock with my jaw still smarting, over what had just happened.

I could still feel the man’s grip from the dream holding me in place, the sensation of my bones almost breaking, and the chanting. Curling up into a ball on the stone floor, I tried to wipe from my mind that grotesque smile, but the more I tried the more the image stayed fresh in my head. Almost immediately, my body certain that nothing else would happen began to shut down.

It was not until I could feel my eyes close that I gave one last halfhearted attempt to stay awake for fear of seeing the green sky. My body and mind ignore me, and I soon felt the cold damp of the cell drift away…

A sharp pain in my hand rouses me and I drowsily looked across the stone floor. All I see are beady eyes and yellow teeth trying to rip into the skin of my outstretched hand. Yelping, I flail throwing the thing hard enough against the cell bars to make them ring loudly. The creature twitched violently before becoming still.

Clutching my hand, I stare at the dead animal confused for a moment. I almost reflectively ask myself where I am before it becomes painfully obvious. The scene plays out in my head: the dream, the man, the sensation of my body breaking, and finally thrown into a cell by men in armor.

I want to laugh at the entire situation and I almost do, as I feel better rested than I had in some time because of not seeing that damn sky or floating city. As quickly as the feeling of laughter comes, it changes to anger and disbelief. Why? Why did the dreams decide to disappear now? Was it because those men kidnapped me? Wait, no. They came at the end, but then who…?

_“You will be enough to answer his call.”_

I swore. It was that man’s fault, from the dream, whatever the hell he-it-was. Son of a – it is because of him, I am wherever this place is. Wishing I had paid better attention to my surroundings, I looked around to see if I could use anything to get out of the cell. Other than the dead rat, my cell was empty. Nothing but a small scatter of straw and a tiny iron grate in the floor, which judging by the smell; was to be my new restroom. The walls were made of solid stone and no matter how hard I pushed, the stones would not budge. The cell bars gave me the same resistance as I tried to shake them loose. I did not have anything on me besides my pajamas so trying to pick the lock on the door was out of the question. Even trying to squeeze my way out was not an option as the bars were too close together. Sighing, I rested my head against the bars hoping that something could help me, something that I was not seeing.

A small hoarse cough got my attention, and I saw that I was not alone. There were two cells in front of mine, both occupied. The one on the left had a man dressed rather ostentatiously in fur and bright colored clothing. He did not seem to be paying anyone any attention; instead, he focused on pacing his small cell and muttering under his breath. In the cell next to him, however, the occupant gave another hoarse cough and shivered near the bars of his cell. Whereas the other man was, obviously, someone of some wealth this man looked rather rough. He wore clothing that looked to have multiple faded patches sewn on throughout and no shoes. He did not speak and looked ill with his pale face halfway framed in shadow. I did not hear anyone else beyond the two men and it was doubtful that they would help me when they were also in the same predicament as I.

With nothing to do, time seemed to crawl by slowly. There were no windows in dungeon to let me know when if it was night or day. Soon, gusts of cool air entered the chamber and three guards entered carrying what looked like food and water. The man in fur immediately started screaming at the guards when one of them slid his food under the bars, which they simply ignored. The other man curled up into a ball as if to make himself smaller. One guard dumped the food right outside the bars of his cell grinding the meal with a boot into the stone with disgust. Luckily, our water came in small water skins so even when thrown, not one drop was spilled. However, that did not stop the guard from deliberately emptying the water in front of the ragged man who could do no more than try to scrape up the puddle with his hands.

When it was my turn, I was surprised. My guard looked wary when he faced me with one had a hand on the hilt of his sword, giving me the impression that he would not hesitate to cut me down if I tried anything. Carefully, he rolled the food under the bars along with my water skin. Looking down, I saw that the food was ten times better than what the others had to eat. An apple, half an onion, a root vegetable, a small loaf of bread, and something gray that smelled like fish. Before I could do anything the guards left, leaving me baffled.

Why was I getting special treatment?

I could see the man in the fur glowering at me, unsatisfied with his gray looking gruel that was on his own tray. I picked up the onion and offered it to him. Maybe he was just as much of a victim as I was. Eating whatever that stuff was could put anyone in a foul mood. The man simply chose to shout at me instead and while I could not understand him, the gist of it came through just fine. Fuck off.  I retracted the onion half and saw out of the corner of my eye the other man’s gaze honed on the food in my hand. Catching his attention, he recoiled and tried to make himself small again.

Not even thinking about it, I lightly tossed the vegetable at his cell hoping that it would not break apart when it hit the ground or bounce off the bars. Luck was on my side. The onion remained intact along with half of the small loaf bread I tossed after. I debated for a minute about the water. How long could I go without it? I had not exactly narrowed down the timing of the guards, but I doubted it would be too long before they came back with more. With that hope, I threw the water skin to the man as well, figuring that I could last much longer than he could. Of course, I probably just gave food and water to an axe murder that drowned puppies for fun making the guards’ treatment of him justified. Nonetheless, I felt better about sharing with the man who sat speechless looking back between his nourishment and me, giving off a vibe of hesitation. Meeting my eyes, he slowly turned his head and I saw something that was the strangest thing beyond the dream. The man’s ears were long and pointed. I felt my jaw drop. You have to be kidding me. I had not noticed with him hiding half in the shadows of his cell because I was certain I would have fainted had I known that an elf was only a few feet away from me.

Clearly, expecting my disgust or loathing at his silent admission, he looked embarrassed at my awe and quickly took the food and water, sitting with his back to the bars. I turned to my food as well, chewing the remaining hard bread thoughtfully. After everything that happened, and the fact that I was behind bars, the idea of an elf tickled me. Seriously, where was I? If I made it out of here, would I run into fairies too? Perhaps, I would even see dwarves and their lust for finding treasure in underground caverns.

I had not read any fairytales or fantasy books since I was a kid. It was not until I meet my friends and coworkers, some of which were avid fans, which reintroduced me to the genre again. They dragged me to movie showings and book signings, and getting me involved along with babysitting their children who always requested to read some of the grittier fairytales. Now, I was trying to figure out if any of the stories had any connection to wherever this place was. A cool gust of wind interrupted my thoughts as it made the flames of the torches dance and me shiver. Odd, the guards had already delivered the food so, who…?

The scuff of metal and boots on the stone answered my question. Accompanied by a guard, a man stood outside my cell, clothed in bright fiery colored robes, his bushy beard threaded with silver, and eyes that made me feel like I was looking into a dark chasm. He smiled, showing brown, but straight teeth as he looked me up and down, making my skin crawl. I tensed and backed up with my hands raised as I saw the man take out a knife from his belt. The man just laughed and slid the blade deep across his arm. What the hell?

Blood welled up from the wound, but it was strange. A cut that deep should have had blood flowing from the slit. Instead, the blood was contained in a thin red line. With an offhand gesture, I felt my entire body freeze in place. I could not move even if I wanted to. The man spoke in a soft voice, waving his wounded hand back and forth. Feeling as if someone had slipped into my skin, I found that my own hand began to mirror his actions. Satisfied, the man stood aside while the guard opened the cell. Another gesture and I walked out of the cell feeling like a living puppet. I saw the elf looking frightened and the man in fur, screaming at us in rage before the door closed behind us.

We walked, I in step with the mage, through the large room filled with chains and empty cells into a dimly lit passage eventually turning sharply into a cluttered room. Books stacked haphazardly in piles in the corners of the room while scrolls of paper littered a small desk against the wall. Simple shelves adorned the walls holding glass vials of liquids ranging in color from smoky black to bright orange along with large hunks of crystals still embedded in rock. The centerpiece of the room was a familiar ring of glyphs on the floor glowing faintly. The guard left us alone, closing the door behind him. I understand who the man is when he stands me in the ring and makes me take his knife and cut into my skin. As the blood drips onto the circle, I can hear an echo of a dark laugh while flashes of green dart across my vision.

_“Foolish. The mage dares to summon me? As if I was a dog meant to heel to his call.”_

My mind is only able to piece together that the word mage was short for magician before I feel my body squeezed into an invisible tube and the man begins to speak in a familiar chant. Bones start to bend almost as though they are ready to snap and muscles contract painfully. The green so familiar to me now begins to brighten filling my vision until it clears suddenly, and I am facing the mage, who is sweating and out of breath. He takes a swig of something from a vial that is so red it coats his teeth and he begins again. Only when the mage begins to shake, does he stop the ritual and walks me back to my cell, my puppet strings tightly wound even after the cell door closes. I cannot move and I stand staring straight ahead at nothing. After some time I start to shake, just enough to feel my muscles loosening up until it turns into full-blown spasms and I am finally able to scream from the pain.

If time seemed to crawl by slowly before, it picked up speed now. I became frightened of the cold drafts coming through the dungeon, as I did not know if it was just the guards or the mage. It did not matter, the mage would come, and I would feel the sensation of someone wearing my skin all due to his desire for the monster in the otherworld. The mage may have failed the first time, but it was just a minor setback. I was now his key to reverse the process to try as many times as possible until he got what he wanted.

The effect of the mage’s spell would linger for days making it difficult to sleep, as my hands would twitch still believing that I held a blade in my hand or my arms would throb from the cuts he healed still feeling the cold bite of the knife. The lack of sleep turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The food I received, likely to keep my blood decent for the man’s experiments had attracted rats to my cell. Due to their numbers, I had gotten good at catching and killing them. If I waited too long they had the ability to swarm my food before I could split it with the elf. While wary of me after my first round with the mage, he still accepted the food and water I gave him. I did not care if he was in here for murder or some such. Feeding him made me feel as if I still had some control of my situation. I just wished that if he did kill someone, it affected the ones who kept us here. Sometimes, when I killed rats in my cell I imagined that they had the faces of the guards, the mage, the man with the hooked nose, the monster in the dream, everyone. To add insult to injury, I would shove the dead carcasses through the metal grate where I relieved myself as a perverse pleasure in hopes that they would receive a similar comeuppance.  

The mage’s sessions became more terrifying as his frustrations at the lack of progress showed. I would be forced to drink some of the concoctions from his shelves that he felt would help with the summoning, some of which I would react badly to making it difficult to keep me upright as my body would try to purge it out of my system. The mage would cut into my arms himself, angling the blood or mixing it with something else while keeping track of previous wounds and avoiding arteries but deep enough that I could only scream in my head.

It was only after new guards came to bring us food that I started to sabotage myself. The elf received his food without tampering by the guards, the same grey substance as the man in fur while I still received better fare. I pointed to his tray and we switched food, though he did give me a look of uncertainty. I just smiled. If the mage needed my blood healthy, he would have to force-feed me. The grey substance was difficult to eat and I contemplated if starving would be a better option. The water helped to choke it down, but it was not easy. I could feel the elf still watching me and knew he had not started on his own meal yet. I was going to mime to him to eat when the telltale squeaking got my attention. Annoyed, I killed another rat, banging it against the bars until it stopped moving. The elf coughed to get my attention, and then spoke in the same language as the mage and guards, though without the harshness I associated with it.

 “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” I croaked out, my voice strained from screaming.

Seeing the elf’s shocked expression, I gathered that he didn’t speak English. I tried some rudimentary Spanish and German, but to no avail. I sighed. The man scratched his head, and then pointed. I was confused as to what he was pointing to, but looking down I saw that he was pointing to the dead rat in my hand, its feet curled and mouth open. I pointed at the rat, hoping that he was not really asking for it, but a nod answered my question. I shrugged, if the elf wanted the rat, it meant that I would not have to share cell space with it or cram it down the iron grate.

Stretching my hand and arm through the bars, and with a flick of the wrist, I watched the dead animal sail through the air and hit his cell bars. Even with the food I gave him, he looked enthusiastically happy with his present. He swiftly picked up the rodent, and with some tied straw was able to bring the animal to the burning torch next to his cell. The smell of seared hair was eye watering. Even the man with the fur shouted his displeasure. Eventually, the smell was gone and the man retraced his prize that was still on fire until he blew it out. He nodded to the rodent then to me. I shook my head. No thank you, you keep your dead and roasted rat. The man shrugged and processed to rip into his meal even adding some of the onion from his meal to it.  

 I should have been disgusted, but I received actual food while he was stuck with the grey garbage and water. I would throw him all the rats he desired along with my meals if that helped him not starve. For how long I could do so, I could not say. The mage was frustrated and it was only a matter of time before he simply slit my throat in hopes that all of my blood would be enough to summon what he desired. I did not want him to succeed with his plans to bring that thing into this world. I knew it was hopeless, but I was willing to try damn near anything to get to prevent it from happening.

I tried to dream of the alien green sky, but it seemed without the mage I had normal dreams or no dreams at all when I slept. The guards were no help, as they ignored us prisoners, even when I tried to goad them to get their attention. After another painful session with the mage, I had nearly given up on ways to escape when I killed another rat. I was about to throw it to the elf when I had an idea. Taking a cue from him, I tied together bits of straw (badly) and hoisted the rat on top in what I hoped was stable enough to do what I wished reaching for the torch closest to me. Seeing the man in fur made me believe that he was of some importance or something to protect despite him being here with the rest of us. With that in mind, I was going to try to knock down one of the burning torches. There was enough straw and hay on the floor to make it a problem for everyone if burned.

I reached for the torch outside my cell, but found the distance too far, even with the stiff straw adding a few extra inches. I would have to throw it. My strength along with the rat was not enough to knock the torch down, but the rat caught on fire just fine. It did not drop to the floor as I hoped though. Instead, it just rolled back and stuck on the sconce holding the torch aloft. We all experienced burning hair once again, but without the benefit of someone being able to eat it or the hope of it making the hay catch fire aiding in our escape. A suppressed cough had me looking at the elf whose shoulders appeared to be shaking. The other man in fur was bellowing again, no doubt about the smell, sending me a dirty look.

 Defeated, I sunk to the cold floor out of options of where to go from here besides doing nothing but waiting for the mage to finish me. More squeaking from the corner rouses me from musings making me irritated. Too many times have I tried to sleep only to be plagued with nightmares of waking up with a swarm of the little bastards trying to eat me whenever I heard them screeching. I killed one and the others scattered.

A cough comes from the elf’s cell again and he motions for the rat in my hand. I nodded and tossed the dead rat to him bracing myself for the smell once again. Strangely, the smell was not as awful as it had been before. After the hair burned away, an enticing aroma came from the carcass. The elf retrieved the burning body and seeing my expression smiled. He waited under the rat cooled a bit and, with some effort ripped the thing in two and tossed me half. The head and half the body hit the bars and I briefly wondered if I was really going to do this.

It did not look like a rat beyond the head with its teeth poking out, just a roasted piece of meat with bits of onion and vegetable tied to it. Hearing the elf tear into his portion and the pain in my stomach made up my mind. Grimly, I picked it up and took the tiniest bite imaginable out of the side. What little meat I tasted was glorious. I do not remember much other than thinking it was the best thing ever and realized I was crunching on the bones. Muffled laughter tore me away from the remains of the meal. The elf gestured to my hand as if to say “well?” and I gave a nod in thanks. I saw him hesitate, then pointing to himself and said the word “Soris.”

I was puzzled for a moment. Did he mean to say thanks for the rat? I pointed to the bones my hand to see if that was the case. He shook his head and repeated himself along with the motions and I understood that Soris was his name. Dropping the bones, I mimed his actions.

“Quinn,” I said, pointing to my chest, then pointing at him, “Soris” I said trying out the word slowly. He nodded with a smile and at even at a distance showing bits of meat stuck in between his teeth. He pointed to the bones I dropped outside the cell and murmured another word. I mimed a rat to make sure he meant the animal and not the bones themselves. He nodded and repeated the word.

“Rat,” I mimicked and received another nod and a smile. Until he fell asleep, Soris pointed to items around our cells, that we could see and tell me how to say them in his language. I do not know why he decided to teach me, but it was nice to have someone to distract me from everything. I doubt any of us would be getting out anytime soon, but now I had hope. Focusing, I watched Soris indicated with his hand and spoke the words for hand, fingers, and counted them. At least I hoped he was. The language was odd and will likely take me a few times, no doubt, to get the words and meanings right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely feedback from Chapter 1! Stay tuned for Chapter 3.
> 
> 5/21/16 Edit: Just dropping this off. Getting Chapter 3 edited then I will post. Let me know if you guys finds any glaring errors that need to be fixed. Thanks!


	3. Release REDUX

It was difficult to determine how much time had passed. The guards delivered food and water too erratically to form an idea, and the less I thought about the frequency of the mage's sessions the better. I tried gauging time by my appearance, but quickly realized how silly that was. Our water skins barely contained enough to drink, let alone clean with, not to mention sharing a meal meant for one person had a fast and visible effect on my weight. In the end, the only way that I could measure time was through my progress in learning the language.

Learning languages was not a strong suit of mine. I could grasp the basics well, but beyond that, I never advanced to higher levels due to lack of effort. There just did not seem to be a need to try when swapped with so many other things that required my attention. Unfortunately, my old habits crawled back, making me forget the handful of words that Soris taught me. Terrified that I would not be able to speak to anyone, I made myself go over the words and phrases until it became an _obsession_.

When Soris slept, I stayed up pretending that he was awake by imagining his responses to my broken sentences. Working out also helped my practice when we had a few rats to eat, providing extra energy. Unfortunately, we quickly reached a roadblock. Soris did not know how to proceed, since there is only so much teaching material one can use in a dungeon. It took few guard rotations before I found myself recalling the stories I used to read to my friend's kids before bed and started reciting them to Soris. He was quick to catch on to what I was doing and helped me if I did not know how to say a particular word—which was often. Usually, I tried to describe it to him the best I could, but I mostly wound up acting it out.

Before I knew it, something in my mind clicked, and the language opened up to me. Speaking was easier and less stilted, becoming more fluid in rhythm. My mind is able to translate the guards grumbling over their duties when they come to feed us or re-light the torches. The mage for all his depravity thinks aloud during our sessions together and I find that he is no closer to succeeding with his goal.

With the break in the language barrier, we begin to speak in a more conversational tone; however, it led to Soris asking me questions about myself. Questions that would have a negative reaction if I told the truth; as a result, I had to improvise. Never going into explicit detail, I explained that the mage has taken me from my home and that I had no idea where I was. I told him nothing of the dreams I had or the monster whose smile and laughter still lingered in my head if I thought about it long enough. It was doubtful that dreams like that were normal, even where elves existed. I was not going to take a chance and potentially alienate my only source of knowledge and companionship. Luckily, my explanation helped to explain my behavior towards him as he confessed his bewilderment on my awe over his appearance when we first met. I had to backtrack quickly and say that my hometown was small enough that while we heard of non-humans (Soris' term) no one had encountered one. Soris did not say much afterward, but he appeared to accept my story. I had tried to ask personal questions about him, but he dodged them by changing the conversation to other matters. I let it pass, especially when he was more than willing to tell me where we were.

Denerim, the capital of a kingdom called Ferelden, ruled by King Calian and Queen Anora. He explained more about the royal family, mentioning strife between the couple that many felt would be disastrous to the kingdom. There were rumors that the Queen was barren, as the royal couple had no heir despite being married for years. I thought it was odd that Soris was able to come by that information as it sounded like something the royal family would want to keep under wraps. When questioned, he just said, "People often overlook elves."

Taking the hint, I steered clear of anything regarding elves, despite my interest and continued to ask him about the world, first as a means to practice then out of genuine curiosity. Soris was happy to oblige. New prisoners had arrived some time ago, minds addled, and speaking in a piercing babble that took some effort to decipher. Words that Soris had not revealed yet, but were repeated often enough that I recalled the guards muttering similar phrases before as well. It was annoying hearing what they were saying, but not understanding the meaning.

"Sorry, but this has been bothering me for a bit," I said, cutting off Soris' talk about Denerim's Market District. "Who or what is the Marker and Andraste?"

While it was fascinating to hear about the busy market square that boasted wares from all over Thedas, I felt this was more important. Soris gave me a puzzled look.

"You know," I said, indicating to the other cells further down the block. "They're always saying things like 'Andraste guide me' and 'Maker, please'. The guards' say it too—well with them is sounds more like a curse."

Soris snorted. "To some, they are," he paused, and then continued. "The Maker is the creator of the world."

"Oh. That…explains a lot." Shouting names of deities in reverence or spite apparently crosses all worlds.

Soris nodded. "Andraste is his Bride. The Chantry, the church, says that he descended from his golden throne when he heard Andraste sing."

"Huh?" While I was not one to poke at others myths or religion, I could already tell that the relationship was going to end badly. Unless…

"Did he make her immortal or something? Give her any powers?"

"No, but he probably should have. She was burned at the stake by the Imperium after being betrayed and sold to them by her husband."

He lost me.

"The Maker betrayed her?"

"What?" Soris laughed. "No! No, her husband Maferath did."

"But you said—" I started, confused.

"She was his bride in spirit. Sorry," he said, still laughing. "I know it's confusing. Anyway, the Maker turned his back on the world after Andraste's death, and will not return until the Chant of Light is sung from all four corners of Thedas.

"To be honest, I'm surprised that I even remembered that much. Most people get by with even less. Mother BoAnn will be happy to know that she earned her title teaching the Alienage."

Seeing as we were discussing religion, it was not a stretch to guess that Mother BoAnn was a priest or nun while the Chant of Light was akin to scripture. The other term, however, I could not figure out.

"What is the Alienage?"

I said the word slowly to better process it in my head before I realized that Soris had gone quiet.

"Are you ok—" I started to ask when it hit me.

I had inadvertently broken the rule of not speaking about anything related to elves. Soris would usually change the topic if I accidentally turned the conversation into something uncomfortable. Seeing as he was still staring at nothing, I racked my mind for something else to talk about when he gave a deep sigh.

"The Alienage is—"

"We don't have to talk about it," I said, quickly. "I know that you—"

"No," He said, closing his eyes. "What I'm doing, avoiding, isn't helping. It just makes things worse."

"Talking about it may not make whatever it is that hurts, better," I said, my voice soft.

"Probably not," he said, opening his eyes and giving me a small smile. Without waiting for a reply, he began to speak. His voice stuttered at first trying to get the words out, but eventually relaxed to regale me with stories about the Alienage, the place he and other elves called home. I learned about the giant tree vhenadahl a symbol of the community along with some of the elven celebrations that took place around it and finally his family. To be more specific, his two cousins: Shianni and Tabris.

Shianni, the youngest, was always getting into trouble, but her willingness to lend a hand to others endeared her to many. Although, her actions had the city guardsmen making it routine to drag her back to the Alienage after catching her stealing the occasional toy for the elven children. Soris recanted an amusing story of how she got out of trouble once by challenging the guards to a drinking contest then leaving them passed out under the table. His other cousin, Tabris, was something of a big sister. Unlike Shianni who he described with a fondness reserved for younger siblings, talking about Tabris made his eye light up in near hero worship.

"She was…incredible," Soris said, with a large smile. "Knew her way around knives and traps like no other. Her mother, my aunt Adaia, taught her everything."

He laughed at himself as he recalled another memory. "Tabris tried to teach me once, when we were younger. Apparently, I look like a drunken Mabari when I try to wield knives. I stuck to a shield after she told me that."

I smiled at the image he painted. "What is a Mabari?"

"It's a famous breed of dog native to Ferelden. Some claim that they are as smart as or smarter than humans."

"Ah." It was difficult talking with Soris like this sometimes, as I had no idea how to react or navigate between the human and non-human racial barriers. He must have seen my expression and reassured me that the statement was not a slight to me personally. Continuing on, he told me more stories of his cousins, but I began to notice something strange. Every time he mentioned Tabris, it was always in the past tense and the stories—with the exception of Shianni—took place when they were children. It did not make sense.

"Why do you mention Tabris in passing?"

His expression of joy faded at the question as his eyes took on a haunted look. Internally calling myself every unflattering name, I opened my mouth ready to say anything to bring back the look he had on his face before. It was not any of my business if Soris wanted to talk about childhood memories. He was happy doing so and hated that I let my curiosity get the better of me. Before any words left my mouth, I heard him exhale a harsh breath.

"Dead," he said, forcing the word between his teeth. "She died. At her wedding."

I closed my eyes. Unflattering names would not be enough now. I should have just pretended ignorance and asked about something inane like the type of food specialties the elves made. Understanding that it may not be enough, I try to apologize, but snide laughter from the cell next to Soris cuts me off.

The man in silk and fur that had seen better days was lounging in his cell smiling. I had thought that he had wasted away since he barely spoke beyond a quiet mutter under his breath, even when the guards came to deliver meals. His mirth spilled out once again as he seemed to recall something funny and I could tell when he met my gaze that he had been listening to our conversation.

"I cannot believe this," he said chuckling. While he could not see Soris due to the arrangement of cells, he watched my reaction while I watched both of theirs. Soris for the most part looked partly angry at the outburst, but also confused until the man spoke again.

"You're still alive? I figured you died in here long ago. And to make matters even more amusing, the knife eared bitch in the blood splattered dress was your cousin?" The man laughed again and I saw Soris' face slacken in horror.

"Soris?" I watched as his body started to shake, making him grip the bars for support.

"Ah, but you didn't even tell her the best parts of the story," the man in fur said, making me slide my gaze back to him.

"How about at the beginning when the drunk hit me over the head with a bottle? My healer told me if she had a little more strength and at the right angle, the blow would have killed me." The man shrugged.

"Well, I could not let the offence go. After all, the city cannot afford to have the little rodents thinking that they can just assault nobility whenever they please. Don't give me that look," he said as I felt my face heat up in anger over the man's arrogance. "I am not without some mercy. All I required as payment for the injury was the female bridal party." He said the word _bridal party_ as if it was a joke. Like elves did not have the right mindset to understand its connotation, that they were less than people. Disgust must have shown on my face as the man shook his head clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"None of that now, I would have brought them back the next day with only a little wear."

My disgust intensified as the implication set in. Soris' breath hitched and a noise that was a half groan half cry escaped.

"That's right! I did not get a chance to enjoy all of my little party favors, did I? All thanks to you and your cousin. Tell me," he said, addressing the stone wall as if he could see Soris behind it. "Did you know how many of my men you both slaughtered?"

He shook his head. "Of course, you did. It took days to clean up the blood from the floor and walls. I will not even go into the work it took to get rid of the bodies, not to mention the smell out of the palace. Then again, I doubt you really noticed as you both must have separated from one another. I never saw you until my remaining guards brought you to me." The man's smile came back and he asked with unrestrained glee.

"Would you like to know how she died? Your cousin," he spat out the word like a curse, "kept trying to reassure your drunken friend."

Soris did not move only bowed his head and clenched his hands tighter on the bars until his knuckles were white.

"That's enough! Soris? Please, look at me," I said, trying to get his attention. The man ignored my outburst and continued, his smile, taking on a cruel edge. Apparently, he kept his mind intact by pure malice alone.

"Or how about that other elven woman? The slightly mousy one with the chirpy voice and shy brown eyes. She surprised me. I did not take her for a fighter…" the man purred, relishing the expression of revulsion on my face and the sounds of Soris' scream of rage causing the man dissolved into more laughter.

"Soris!"

The man's voice cut through Soris' screams. "And you, girl," the man said, dragging my gaze from Soris. He chuckled, looking at me, intent clear in his eyes. "I plan on having a little party with you once I get out of here."

Feeling my skin crawl, I laughed in his face.

"Try it," I said. "I killed enough rats in this place. One more won't make a difference."

He smiled, but it faded when he saw that I was serious. I was certain that few stood up to him before his imprisonment. Nonetheless, the man, pleased with the damage he caused, resumed his usual position with his back against the bars. Soris did not speak when I called out or acknowledge the dead rat that I threw to him a little later, hoping that it would take him out of his stupor. When that did not work, I began to talk to the stones in my cell again, hoping that I had not lost my only friend.

O0O

"Quinn…"

Soris' voice surprised me that for a moment, I thought I was hearing things. Looking up, I saw him slumped against the wall near the bars and gave me a little nod. Happiness welled up inside me and I scrambled to get as close to my bars as possible.

"Soris, you're—"

"Is he listening?"

The question threw me for a moment. The man had not said much of anything since the incident. Taking a quick look at the cell, the man appeared to be sleeping but I was not sure. My shrug was enough for Soris.

"I'm—"

"Don't apologize," I said, keeping my voice low. "I just wish that your cousin hit him harder with the bottle."

Soris looked stricken for a bit then buried his face in his hands. Feeling like a monster for bringing up the memory, I almost did not catch Soris' shoulders shaking as he let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"Shianni was never one to think things through, but you should have seen it," he said, his voice muffled through his hands but still shaking with laughter. "Too busy trying to chat up Tabris he didn't see her coming until it was too late. Fell to the ground with his ass sticking up in the air."

I had to stifle my giggles at the image. We calmed down after a while and Soris took the time to prepare another sheaf of hay to cook the rat I tossed him earlier.

"Hey, can I ask about the wedding? I mean," I backtracked quickly, "based on what you told me about Tabris, it seems really unlikely that she would want to get married."

Soris snorted as he gathered some hay outside his cell.

"It was an arranged marriage set up by her father, my uncle Cyrion. And no," he said, catching my expression, "she didn't go willingly—at least not until she saw her betrothed."

"Let me guess, he was quite the catch?"

Soris rolled his eyes as he twisted the bundle of hay. "She practically floated when she saw him with his fair hair and strong features."

"Sounds like you were a bit taken with him as well."

"He was very nice to look at, I admit. A better sight than…" Soris trailed off, taking more interest in settling the rat on the makeshift torch.

"Soris?"

"I was getting married too," He said, trying not to look at me. "It was a double wedding. Tabris with her groom, Nelaros, I think was his name and me with my bride."

"Congratulations," I said, trying to keep the mood light.

Soris shook his head. "You won't say it after you hear my reaction towards her."

My brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Let's just say that my bride was not very…beautiful."

I could not mask my exasperation. "Soris…"

"Let's see how well you react after nearly everyone tells you that your betrothed sounds like a dying mouse."

"I bet she wasn't even as bad as they made her out to be."

"Well, no. Valora is, at her worst, plain. Which probably didn't help as her voice is a bit higher than what most would find appealing…" He sighed at my unsympathetic expression. "Look, I was a bit upset since Tabris had someone who looked like they came right out of a story."

"Please tell me that she, your new bride, put you in your place." Just because someone looked like a mouse did not mean they had to act like one.

Luckily, Soris grumbled an affirmative as he stood and reached outside his bars to move the rat over the torch so that it caught fire. Bringing it down carefully, we waited until the smell of burnt hair went away.

"So," I said, breaking the silence. "What did she tell you?"

"Told me not to run off and join the Dalish or run away in general, leaving her at the altar. She smiled rather sweetly and said she'd come find me and drag me back."

I laughed. "Well, it sounds like she figured you out quickly."

Soris smiled. "Tabris was close enough to hear Valora when she said it. After my cousin was done laughing, she kept telling me on the way to the alter how happy she was that she gained a sister," he said as he touched the meat to make sure it was cool enough to eat.

"Were they chatting and shooting you looks throughout the ceremony?"

"No…" he said, the word nearly a whisper.

"Ah" I said, quietly.

"I—I did manage to save her along with a few of the other bridesmaid's but—" He cut himself off and tried to twist the rat in half. His hands were shaking too much to muster any strength to do so. I watched, as he got frustrated, then threw the carcass hitting the cell next to mine out of our reach.

"Fucking shemlans," Soris said, seething until he saw the rat.

"Sorry," he said, shame evident in his voice as he cast his eyes to the floor.

I shrugged. "It's ok. I wasn't hungry any way."

Soris' head snapped up with his eyes wide in surprise. I smiled. It was a lie, of course. We were always hungry. The key to dealing with the hunger pangs was to take one's mind off it.

"By the way, what does shemlen or shemlan mean?"

Clearly still offset from my earlier statement, it took him a minute to understand what I was asking. "Um…It's an insult elves use against humans. It means quick children."

"That's it?"

"…Yes."

It was terrible. I expected something a bit more scandalous in terms of insults and told Soris as much. The mood lightened and we both proceeded to one up each other with the various insults that we knew, though it was a bit challenging, as the translation did not always flow well. Soris was winning as he pulled various abuses he had heard from traveling merchants, soldiers, and to my shock, dwarves. I mentally checked off another fantasy element here wondering what else was in this world while I had Soris laughing at an expression that implied inappropriate handling of ducks. Unfortunately, the humor died when a muffled explosion shook the walls of the dungeon.

Soris and I shared worried looks.

What was going on?

Muted shouts rang out along with the clanging of metal against stone. I released a breath I did not know I held, as everything seemed to calm down and become silent once again. Without warning, sound exploded beyond the door outside our cellblock that had us all cowering far back into our cells as possible. Hairs on my arms stood on end as a faint crackling hummed in the air before it snapped. Cries of pain came through the door until everything fell silent.

The click of the door opening nearly made my heart stop. I wanted to know what happened, but I was not sure I would like the answer. The sounds of boots and metal echoed in the space and I braced myself. Two people came into my line of sight first, both outfitted in armor dented and covered in blood. Their helms concealed their features, but I knew that they were taking stock of everything. Hands gripped the hilts of their weapons until they realized there was no threat. Someone grunted and I edged closer to the bars to get a better look.

A new figure came in behind the first two; ducking to fit through the doorway, making the dungeon appear smaller. This one also wore a helm, but it had no faceplate allowing me to glimpse dark skin in the torchlight and long white braided hair. Before I could even start making guesses if the person was even human, a smaller figure entered the room. A woman, going by her tattered clothing that left nothing to the imagination, and I watched as she wrinkled her nose while gazing the sight of the cells holding a staff in her hands, its jewel on the tip glowing faintly.

The group certainly stood out, but whose side were they on? Would it be better to shrink away, hoping that they did not kill us all or get their attention? The man in his ruined silk and fur clothing decided for us.

"Who's there? Let me out of here now!" he ordered, glowering at the new group. One of the warriors in armor, one that looked to be made of silver, turned to face his self-important gaze.

"And you are?"

The voice, masculine and cultured, had an adverse effect on the man who reacted as if he had been insulted despite the reasonable question.

"I'm the arl of Denerim, you fool!" the man shouted. The man in silver chuckled, unimpressed at the declaration.

"Really?" silver armor said, drawing out the word, though it sounded tinny coming from the helm. "I recall that arl Urien died at Ostagar."

"It's true! I'm Vaughan Kendells, heir to the arling of Denerim! After my father and a good portion of the troops perished at Ostagar, the remaining forces returned to the city. Riots broke out when the news of King Cailan's death reached us."

I heard Soris let out a small gasp. Racking my brain, I tried to remember what he had told me about the king. Something about marital trouble, but was pulled from my thoughts when Soris addressed the silver warrior.

"H—how long has it been since King Cailan's death?" He asked, gripping the bars of his cell tightly getting the warrior's attention. Oh, the king had been alive before Soris was in imprisoned meaning we had been in here for…

"Over a year has passed since the Battle of Ostagar," said the man in silver.

I felt dizzy at the news. I had been in this place for over a _year_? It seemed as though I had been here for so much longer. Thoughts swirled in my head trying to figure out _something_ , but the man, Vaughan, raised his voice gaining everyone's attention.

"As I was saying, Howe came with his men to reinforce the garrison here. At least, that is what he claimed," Vaughan said with a sneer. "He threw me in here once he was let into the palace. ' One more victim of the elven uprising' he said—"

"Elven uprising!" Soris interrupted, his voice close to panicking.

"Quiet rat!" Vaughan said, throwing a glare at the stone wall between them before giving his attention back to the man in armor. "Let me out of here and I will do anything."

Silver armor appeared to be studying Vaughan. "Anything?"

Vaughan did not hesitate to gain favor and began speaking quickly.

"I have a key that opens a locked chest full of sovereigns in my room. It is located at the end of the hall near the door to the dungeons. Free me, and the key is yours."

"No!" Soris tried to push his body through the bars his face contorted with rage.

"Hush, rabbit. The humans are talking," Vaughan said while flashing a small golden key to the others as proof that he did not speak falsely. Soris, though, just shouted louder.

"No. You murdered her! You killed her and her husband in cold blood. Ruined my bride on our wedding day and now you're trying to slip away?" His rage made me believe that any moment he would break out of his cell with his willpower alone.

"Maker's breath," murmured the other warrior whose armor appeared to be a dull gold color. At least the parts not covered in dried blood. The other two companions, the giant and the woman, were silent watching the event unfold. The silver armored man's next words shocked Soris and me both.

"I understand."

The pure sincerity of his words made me sick. He was going to give in to this monster despite all that Soris had said. We all watched as the man in silver opened his hand and extended it towards Vaughan's cell.

"Give me the key first, and then I'll open the door." The voice, calming, made Vaughan smile in triumph. Soris let out a choked scream.

"Cousland! Are you seriously thinking about taking the man's offer?" said gold armor, his disbelief coming in clear through the helm.

"Kadan, I am forced to agree with the Templar. There is no purpose in this." The giant's voice was deep, with an underlying growl. The man in silver, Cousland, turned to look at his companions, but his helm hid his expression.

"We need votes at the Landsmeet. Loghain and Howe have done enough to ensure that we will end up dead before we can stop the Blight. We cannot afford to be picky."

Both the man in gold and the giant stood silent, bodies tense. Surprisingly, only the woman seemed unaffected by the entire conversation—even a bit bored by it. In the end, it did not matter about the other companions. I watched Vaughan reach through the cell bars and drop a small golden key into Cousland's outstretched hand. He was going to walk free…

The key barely touched the gauntlet before Cousland struck. Faster than I could see, he reached up gold key still in hand and encircled Vaughan's wrist, twisted with enough force to create a loud crunch causing the man to let out a earsplitting scream. He tried to pull his arm back through the bars, but Cousland held fast.

"Alistair," Cousland said, unaffected by the man's screams as his free hand reached for his helm. "Would you please open the elf's cell?"

The man in the gold armor—Alistair—noticed something accentuating the man's words and appeared to cheer up immediately. He whistled a jaunty tune that resonated from under his helm while pulling off a ring of keys from his belt.

"I'll have your head for this!" Vaughan said, and I took a bit of joy hearing the pain in his voice. "You can't do this to me! Let me go!"

Cousland simply tightened his hold and twisted Vaughan's wrist into an even more uncomfortable angle as he finished loosening the straps from his helm and lifted it off his head, letting it fall to the stone floor. I saw closely cropped dark hair and tanned skin. Vaughan's screams were not loud enough to drown out his response.

"Vaughan Kendells, son of arl Urien," Cousland gave a little nod, twisting the wrist in his hand a little more while pulling the arm further through the bars. "We met briefly before at some tournament a few years ago. Your exploits regarding elves and those you deemed under your station are legendary."

Soris exited his cell, his face a mixture of shock and awe, over the change in situation as the man, Cousland, held his enemy in his grasp.

"I—I don't ARGGH!" A loud pop echoed in the chamber. I flinched. Alistair tossed Cousland the keys and he caught them easily as though they practiced the move many times before. Letting go of Vaughan, who sank to the floor clutching his shoulder, Cousland unlocked the cell door. Moving fast, Cousland dragged Vaughan out of his cell by his useless arm, making the man cry harder as he tried to claw the armored arm off his injury. He ignored Vaughan's efforts and pushed him to his knees, securing his still functioning arm behind him.

"Elf, what is your name?" Cousland asked as he situated Vaughan so that he faced Soris. The new angle made it easier to see his features better as he gazed at Soris waiting for a reply. His face, worn, made it difficult to judge his age, but combined with his ratty beard made his cultured voice seem out of place.

"Soris," he replied, no doubt wondering what the man was planning as he stared at Vaughan who was trying to breathe through tears. Cousland smiled charmingly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Soris," Cousland said with a short bow. "My name, as you have heard, is Cousland. I am the only survivor of the famed and noble family of Highever, now a Grey Warden."


	4. Escape REDUX

“ _Grey Warden_?”

Cousland’s smile widened at the reverential tone in Soris’ voice. “It would be remiss of me not to aid another in their vengeance, especially when it is against those who have harmed their family.” He grasped the hilt of a dagger tucked into his belt.

Soris sucked in a breath, staring at Cousland in disbelief. “You mean…”

Cousland pulled the blade from its sheath. “As I said, word of Vaughan’s cruelties reached even my family home. I can understand your anger against him perfectly.”

While I had no qualms about roughing Vaughan up, I grew concerned when Cousland slid the weapon to Soris. I waited, hoping someone would object, but the two who had argued against taking Vaughan’s bribe remained silent, satisfied about the man’s fate.

I would have to be the one to speak up; argue for a better option other than murder, like throwing Vaughan back into his cell. He could continue to suffer in prison with nothing but the rats for company. Yet, despite my feelings on the situation, I could not bring myself to say anything.

Soris’ anguished face kept surfacing in my mind; the one he wore when Vaughan gloated over his crimes against his wife and cousins. Soris would see my interference as a betrayal, and alienating the one person who showed me kindness in this place was the last thing I wanted to happen. Besides, this was not my world. What say did I have on how they carried out their justice?

I stepped back from the bars and turned around, facing the wall. Vaughan would die by Soris’ hand, but I did not need to witness it. I had enough fuel for my nightmares to last me for years. The sooner it was over, the sooner I could get out of this cell, find the mage, force him to redo his original spell, and go home. I would be free of this place and Soris would reunite with his wife. It was a win-win situation. I just needed to ignore the fact someone had to die for it happen.

I tense as a groan of pain fills the silence, but strangely, it does not sound like it came from Vaughan. Spinning around and gripping the bars to see better, I notice Cousland shifting his stance while trying and failing to grasp at his side, causing him to lean forward in a shallow bow. Alistair makes a noise of concern starting towards the man when Vaughan suddenly surges to his feet, ramming the top of his head into Cousland’s face causing him to fall back and release his hold.

Everyone _moved_.

Alistair and the woman rushed to Cousland, while the giant and Soris closed in on Vaughan, but it was in vain. He had a clear path to the doorway. However, in his flight to run, he positioned himself in front of my cell, and I could see the muscles in his back tense as he readied himself to move.

Not stopping to think, I reached out between the bars, grabbing fistfuls of his clothing, and yanked back with all the strength I had. Vaughan toppled backward, off balance, hitting his head against the bars hard enough to ring the metal. Stunned, I took the moment to wrap my arms around his torso holding him tight against the bars.

He was thinner than I thought. It should not have surprised me given my own appearance, but even so, it was a shock. The man’s personality had given off the illusion he was larger. It was probably for the best though. Once he came to, Vaughan wasted no time trashing wildly enough to make me feel grateful for his loss of weight even as I turned my head to the side to avoid getting my nose broken.

“Take him, now!” I yelled my voice ending in a shriek as Vaughan dug into my arms with his nails, trying to peel back the skin trying to make me let go. Gritting my teeth, I wished Soris would hurry up and take him, especially since Vaughan’s thrashing grew more violent making it difficult to hold him while his once crass swears turned into screams.

Just what were Soris and the others doing? Other than the short scream, my words should have been clear. Take Vaughan away before he—

Something warm flows over my arms, bringing with it an overpowering scent of copper.

Oh.

Nausea bubbled in my stomach. I did not want to be a part of this. Killing rats were one thing; this was another entirely. The smell of blood grew thicker and Vaughan’s screams of pain scraped the inside of my skull to the point it became difficult to focus. Shaking, I let my grip slacken, ready to let go, only to hear a furious voice scream, “Hold him!”

The sharp words cut through the fog in my mind, and my body immediately responds, resuming the tight hold. There would be no way out of this. Closing my eyes tight, I try to block out everything going on around me, falling back on reciting vocabulary as I had done when I could not cope with my surroundings. Five words are all I can manage before I break into mumbled prayers for the entire ordeal to end. Concentrating on my voice, I let everything else fade into the background.

A loud rhythmic tattoo rings in the air, startling me out of my meditation. Tilting my head, a golden helm comes into my line of sight, as does the gauntlet still rapping on the iron bars. Noticing my gaze, the man stops and gives me a little wave.

“Ah, hello,” he says, a bit embarrassed. “It’s over. You can let go now.”

Seconds pass before the words sink in. Ripping my arms back behind the bars, I watch as Vaughan’s corpse slumps to the ground in a crumbled heap. I start to taste bile staring at the sight and with it the understanding that I helped kill someone.

Trying to curb the oncoming sickness, I begin rubbing my arms to get restore feeling back into them only to remember the blood when my fingers stick to the drying fluid. I hunch over, giving in to the nausea until there is nothing left.

“Quinn?”

A hand lightly shakes my shoulder and it takes me a minute to realize the rough voice belongs to Soris. Looking up, I nearly scream in terror. Covered head to toe in blood, he stands in front of me breathing harshly while clutching the knife Cousland gave him. Drops of blood fall from the tip and my knees start to tremble. Was this the last thing Vaughan saw before he died?

Before I could do anything to act on my fear, Soris tucks the blade into the remains of a belt and gives me a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, Quinn,” he said, extending his hand out to me. “Come on. We’re free.”

Free.

The word sounded strange, but with it, images of the mage and the room sprang into my mind.

I could go home.

Straightening up, I took his hand firmly, ignoring the blood staining both our hands. It was over. We were free.

As we stepped out of the cell, a stray thought made me snort out a laugh despite the circumstances. Descriptions of elves normally promoted their height and elegance, yet I could see over Soris’ head easily. Once I was home and recovered, I would tell my friends Tolkien’s images would no longer be the foundation used to describe elves to the children.

Soris threw me a questioning look, but I shook my head. Funny or not, there was no need to explain anything now, not when we stood outside our cells that kept us captive for so long. Even Vaughan’s body now lying against the adjacent cell could not dispel the thrill of escaping from captivity. I was so close to getting home…

Grunting from my right made me turn to see the man in gold —Alistair —in the process of removing his helm, which came off with one final pull. Straightening, he muttered about a brother with a small head, and I was able to see his features properly. Short ruddy blond hair shot up in spikes likely from sweat, and his scowl at the piece of offending armor twisted his patchy goatee. Blowing out a breath, he turned and paused when he noticed Soris and I staring.

“Feeling better? Wait, Maker, that was a stupid question,” He said, one hand scratching his head in mortification. “Let me try again: Can you both make it out of here on your own?” He asked, glancing over our malnourished appearance.

Soris gave Alistair a look I mentally agreed with: We would leave this place no matter what. Understanding, Alistair nodded.

“All right, may the Maker watch over you both.” He motioned behind me. “Sten.”

The giant moved so quietly he practically appeared out of thin air moving past us down the passage towards the two remaining cells in the dungeon. Alastair gave us a wave goodbye and followed the giant, Sten. Recalling the two men, I absently hoped the others would be able to help them as Soris and I stumbled towards the exit.

We did not get far. Cousland sat on the stone floor with the strange woman kneeling beside him, halfway blocking the doorway. Snippets of conversation reached us throwing around words “crossbow” and “Wynne”.

Coming closer to the pair, the woman began to slather a thick paste over a small, roughly stitched wound while Cousland kept his protective padding and shirt lifted up and out of her way. He recoiled at the contact and attempts to wiggle away from the woman knocking over his breastplate propped against his knee. The woman simply grabs his arm and pulls him back in place muttering about infants. Cousland sneers at her, but seeing our approach, changed his expression to a friendlier one.

“My apologies to you both, I didn’t mean for him to get away,” he said. His voice is jarring to hear. Gone were the cultured tones, replaced instead with a hoarse nasally combination likely sprung from the dark bruising under his eyes and thick bits of cloth stuffed in his nostrils. The woman makes a noise of disgust, her gold eyes furious.

“Tis embarrassing you were bested by an unarmed and half-starved prisoner,” she said, her voice hard and lilting as she reprimanded her charge. He hissed as she put more of the strong smelling salve on the wounded area.

“Guess I was still high from killing Howe I didn’t notice the wound.” The woman pushed on the wound none too gently making Cousland grunt in pain.

“Maker’s breath, Morrigan,” Cousland ground out between his teeth.

“Didn’t notice?” the woman, Morrigan said, her voice a sibilant hiss. “Do we not always heal ourselves after a battle?”

Cousland opens his mouth to speak, but Morrigan cut him off.

“Instead, you charged into the next room without a care.” She tossed the jar that held the paste into a small bag and pulls out a roll of bandages, and begins winding the material around Cousland’s torso.

“I didn’t exactly charge into the room—” he winced as she tied the bandage tightly. “I needed to unlock the door, remember?” The woman gave Cousland an unamused look.

Seeing he was not going to be getting into the woman’s good graces anytime soon, Cousland returned his attention to us.

“Leaving? Good. You should not run into any trouble on the way out.”

Soris nodded to Cousland pulling the bloodied knife from his belt and handed it hilt first to the wounded man.

Cousland shook his head. “Keep it. I have another.” He nodded towards his belt where another short blade rested. Grateful, Soris placed the knife back into his belt and gave a shallow bow.

“Thank you. For everything. I wish I had more to offer you than my thanks.”

“It’s better than what most people give,” Cousland murmured.

I smiled and dipped my head in thanks as well. If not for Cousland and his group who knows how long we would have remained trapped in this dungeon or simply died here. We began to walk past them both; however, before we could take more than two steps, Cousland called out to Soris and tossed him something small. It bounced off Soris’ hand a few times until he managed to hold onto the item, but once he had it, we both looked down at a small gold key in his hand.

“I know it’s not enough,” Cousland said, getting our attention. “But perhaps your family can use it as a recompense for what happened.”

Soris said nothing, but his grey eyes darkened for a moment, his hand fisting around the key. Neither Cousland nor the woman was paying attention to us anymore, as she gathered up her supplies and staff while Cousland began putting his armor back on. Stepping past them, we exited through the open doorway. I could hear Cousland call out to Alistair but my attention lay ahead.

The area beyond our cells looked the same as it ever did when the mage would lead me to his study. The only difference was the bodies of armored men scattered across the floor. My hand shook in Soris’ as we walked over them. I tried not to stare too hard at the scene, fearing I would get sick again if I did.

Unfortunately, there were too many bodies and I needed to look to avoid stumbling over them. Familiar faces of the guards met my gaze, but I was able to hold back my nausea this time around. It helped when I remembered the way they treated Soris and I while imprisoned.

One body stood out as we walked by, a man with a hooked nose lay in a pool of his own blood, a broken blade in his chest, and features set in an eternal snarl. Before I could rack my brain to see why the man appeared familiar, a flash of color caught my eye and the scars on my arms throbbed.

A man in blue robes lay curled against the wall, blood seeping through the bright cloth. Yanking my hand out of Soris’ grip, I hurried over to the body, careful to avoid tripping over the dead soldiers. Once I was close enough to see the mage’s face, I sighed in relief.

It was not him.

This mage was clean-shaven with empty pale eyes, nothing at all like the mage I knew who eyes made me feel as though I was looking into an abyss.

“Quinn, we need to go.”

Startled, I looked at Soris, who moved to stand next to me with a worried look on his face.

“Right,” I said. “Well, you need to go. I need to find the mage who kept taking me out of my cell.”

Soris’ brow furrowed. “Why?”

“He kidnapped me, remember?” I said, brushing past him. “He probably locked himself in his room when things got hairy. It has the red ring there.” I looked back at Soris, who appeared troubled, but caught up to follow.

We walked through the long passage to the mage’s study as I did many times under his spell. I had to remind myself I could move faster instead of the easy and slow gait the mage favored. My heart grew frantic as we came to a nest of broken wood and light spilling into the hallway. Stepping over a few of the larger debris, I faced what remained of the door and stared inside. I barely heard Soris’ sharp intake of breath at the sight.

The room was in shambles. Potions once proudly displayed on their shelves, now littered the ground, broken glass twinkling under the torchlight while their contents congealed or burned through the stone. The desk stood smoldering in the corner its contents blackened to ash along with the many books the once piled near the walls making the air difficult to breathe. My attention, however, was on the red ring. It no longer sizzled with magic nor glowed brightly thanks to the mage I needed lying dead across it, smearing the intricate markings.

Any remaining nausea from Vaughan’s brutal death along with the bodies of the guards disappeared replaced by cold disbelief. This was not happening.

I stepped into the room, ignoring the splinters of wood and broken glass under my feet; intent on finding something—anything—that could send me home. My scars on my arms itched as I noticed the mage still held on to his knife, even in death. Seeing the deep cuts on his hand, I could feel the familiar control he had over me, like a grotesque puppet, unable to scream or move on my own.

Did you try to control Cousland and the others as you did to me? Use your knife to call on your magic, only to fail—

Wait.

Looking down at the knife, a thin thread of hope grew in my chest. The mage never casted his magic without it. The blade, black with bright gold runes, must have something to do with the spell. I did not need him at all. I could go home on my own.

Kneeling down by the body, I wrestled the blade from the mage cringing when a couple of fingers broke as I forced them open. The grip and weight of the blade was so familiar in my hand, I did not even flinch when I dragged it across my skin. Blood welled up from the cut coating the runes on the blade…

Nothing happened.

There was no pull of magic pressing down on my bones or flashes of green skating across my vision.

No, this needed to work. I had to go home. I did not belong here in Thedas or Ferelden or whatever this damn place was called.

I cut my arm repeatedly, watching the blood well up more and drip onto the ring. Come on. Come _on_. Still nothing. Maybe it was not enough blood. What if I—

A hand gripped my wrist, forcing the knife away while another grabbed hold of my bleeding arm tucking it against my side.

“What are you doing?” Soris yelled into my ear.

“Home. I need to get home,” I said, trying to bring back the knife to my arm. Soris was much stronger, though, and kept the blade away.

“Killing yourself won’t send you back!”

“It’s how he brought me here. What’s he has been doing to me since I—”

“Quinn, stop! Listen to me. You are not a mage. All you’ll manage to do is make yourself bleed out.”

“But the knife—”

“Is just a knife. It may have a few enchantments on it to keep it from dulling, but that’s all. It’s not going to send you anywhere, but to your death if you continue.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as the realization of Soris’ words hit me. I could not go home. Before I could breakdown further, Soris spoke again.

Listen,” he said softly. “I know you want to go home, but it’s not possible now. Instead, let’s focus on getting out of here. I’ll take you back with me to my family in the Alienage. There, we can recover and find out a way to get you home.”

I tried to think of any alternatives to Soris’ plan, but none came to mind. I could cut my arms all day, but I knew he was right. The mage was dead and the circle destroyed. I could not get back home the way I came.

“I—I guess I’ll be in your care then,” I said, forcing myself to calm down. There was no need to fight against him anymore.

“Just think of it as a way for me to repay you for all you’ve done for me. Come on,” he said, letting go of both my wrists to stand. I rotated them, noting they were probably going to bruise. I must have truly scared him. Looking at the deep cuts on my left arm, I could see how. Unlike before, there was no mage to heal them this time and I could already begin to notice to painful twinges of the cuts as I moved.

“If you plan on taking his knife with you, grab his belt,” he said, his voice startling me. I found him kneeling on the opposite side of the body a couple of glass vials in his hands. His misunderstood my questioning glance at the vials and nodded at the knife still in my hand.

“I’d feel better knowing the weapon is covered and not—”

“Being used to cut myself as we walk out of here?”

Soris grimaced. “Please. Promise me you won’t.”

I crawled closer to the mage’s body and began undoing the belt.

“I won’t. Besides, I already told you I was in your care.”

Soris snorted as I secured the belt as best I could and sheathed the knife.

The rest of the trip out of the dungeon was uneventful. So much so, I started getting used to stepping over dead bodies of the guards Cousland and his company killed. The only surprise was when we stepped in the palace proper.

Brightly lit torches, beautiful thick woven rugs, and portraits of various figures hanging in elegantly carved wooden frames were chaos to my eyes. A powerful mixture of scents ranging from freshly cut wood, clean linen, and pine did not make the experience from one extreme to another any easier, as I grew used to the acidic scent of urine and old blood. Soris was not hindered by the surroundings, opting to ignore the lavishness around us; instead, fixing his gaze on the door on the other side of the corridor.

Recalling what happened to Tabris and the others, I opened my mouth to ask Soris if he would feel more comfortable waiting outside the room while I searched for the sovereigns—whatever they were—when the telltale sound of metal boots on stone echoed from somewhere down the corridor. We shared a glance, and then quickly rushed to the door.

A dark thought passed through my mind before I could stop it. What would we do if the door would not open? Soris pulled on the handle, and to my relief the door to Vaughan’s room opened. We both quickly stepped inside, closing the door shut behind us.

First impressions of the bedroom were warm and inviting. A grand four-poster bed covered in beautiful linen while large animal furs lay spread across on the floor surrounded by handsome wood furniture. All pulled together by a roaring fire inside fireplace large enough to stand in. It was a beautiful room, but under the extravagance, I smelled blood.

Looking for the source, I discovered the body of a guard near the side of the bed half-dressed, with his armor a few feet away. An overturned table with a simple meal of wine and cheese lay close by. Did Cousland and his group do this?

Soris not caring to figure out the story behind the dead guard instead chose to gather up the fallen food and wine. At my questioning glance, he gestured to a chest sitting in front of the four-poster. A quick scan of the room told me it was the only chest, and most likely the one where our key would fit. Well, that was easy.

Pulling up one of the fur rugs in front of the chest, we sat down, and I took the time to bask in the feeling of sitting on something soft after so long. Soris placed the food between us on the fur then took a swig of the wine before passing the bottle to me.

“So far I like your master plan for getting us out.” I said, accepting the wine and taking a sip. The water we had in prison was fine, but getting something with a bit of bite to it was better.

Soris shrugged. “I figured you didn’t want to want to introduce yourself to those soldiers.” He took a piece of cheese after wiping his hand on the fur to clean off as much blood as possible and bit into the small wedge.

“No, I didn’t. It’s unlikely they would help us seeing as we killed—” I stopped. It was difficult to act casual about the topic as the man’s blood still stained my hands, even if he did deserve it. Soris thankfully understood what I was trying to say and nodded.

“They probably wouldn’t care much about Vaughan’s death, but I doubt they would let us leave alive. Cousland would have told us if he had other friends with him.”

“So, we have to wait and hope that they don’t come looking this way. I—shit Soris. I’m sorry.”

Soris furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why?”

“If I hadn’t gotten so preoccupied with going home…I know this place doesn’t hold good memories.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, voice flat. “But, if we’re going to be stuck here for a bit longer, we might as well take advantage of the hospitality from our dead guard.” Soris raised the bottle in a mock salute.

“The guard?”

“I’m pretty sure the guard was the one to put out our meal. I saw stray bits of woman’s clothing near the rest of his armor.”

 It took me a moment to understood the implications of his words, but when I did, I let out a strangled laugh. I have no idea why the act of a guard trying to get fresh with someone in the boss’s bedroom was amusing, but it was certainly a gutsy move. Soris grinned, taking a bite of another wedge of cheese and held out one of the vials he took from the mage to me as he chewed. The liquid inside was light red, too watery to be blood, but I shook my head at the offering anyway. The mage made me swallow enough concoctions during our sessions and none of them was for my benefit. Soris did not share the same feeling.

“It will help us, Quinn.”

“How do you know? You found it next to a dead body in a room filled with hundreds of different flasks and vials. There’s no telling what it is,” I said, eyeing the container in his hand warily. Sighing, Soris uncorked one of the vials and took a short sniff.

Seeing what he was about to do, I moved to knock the vial out of his hand, but it was too late. He tossed back the contents and I sat frozen, waiting for the worst to happen. Other than grimacing, he did not show any outward signs of discomfort. If anything, he appeared better. His back straightened, no longer bowed from pain and he appeared to breathe easier than before. Soris smiled at my look of awe.

He held out the other vial to me. I sat uncertain until Soris began waving it in front of my face. Annoyed, I snatched the thing out of his hand, ripped the cork off, and tipped the vial back. The liquid tasted exactly as it smelled: a fusion of cinnamon and mint. The combination burned a path all the way down my throat, making me double over coughing. Damn, stuff was stronger than the wine.

In spite of the discomfort, I could feel its effects immediately. My body never quite recovered from the mage’s sessions even after his spell wore off. The potion soothed away all the aches and pains I endured until they became nothing but a minor annoyance. The potion even healed the cuts on my feet from the broken glass in the mage’s study and clotted the cuts I inflicted on my arm. Ignoring Soris’ smug smile, I took a piece of cheese from the platter, feeling more ravenous than usual.

“Now, that is out of the way,” he began, pushing the platter towards me indicating I should eat more. “We need to talk about how we are going to explain to my family about you, besides having to hide the fact you’re not from Thedas.”

I swallowed too quickly in order to speak and wound up choking on the piece of cheese. When I recovered from my small coughing fit, Soris held up a hand to stall any of my attempts to talk.

“You told me the mage kidnapped you. I believe you. Where he kidnapped you from remains a mystery, but I know it’s not in Thedas. Denerim is the capital of Ferelden. I’ve heard nearly all the languages spoken in Thedas - except Qunlat and Tevinter, but from how it's described, it wasn’t what you used when we first began to talk.” He paused to take another drink of the wine.

“Then,” he continued. “There’s your reaction to me when you got a look at my ears. Elves get many reactions from people, but unless they killed a dragon with a stick, amazement is not one of them. I could go on, but…”

“Yeah,” I said, unable to muster a counter argument.

What was the point? It was funny how much I believed would be taken seriously. I could probably explain my reactions, the language barrier, or flesh out a better backstory to explain my unconventional personality. However, eventually someone would find all the holes in my explanations. It was a miracle Soris caught on to the problem and was willing to work with me before we went too far.

“So…did you have any ideas?” I asked. “I mean, I’d like to know if it would be a bad idea to ask a random mage on the street about sending me back home. My blood seems to be a good catalyst for it.” Soris almost dropped the piece of cheese in his hand.

“No,” He said, slowly, his eyes meeting mine. “Quinn, please do not mention to anyone about the blood mage.”

“Blood mage? I thought he was just a mage?”

“Based on what I saw and what you told me, he’s a blood mage. A mage who perform spells by, well, blood,” he said, pointing to the scars on my arms. Despite the mage healing them, the scars were very noticeable with the healed tissue raised and puckered.

“Right…look, let’s skip the other obvious questions I want to ask and just tell me why it’s a bad idea.”

“I don’t personally care about it since I know you and the situation, but others will. Remember what I said about the Chantry?”

“You told me about the Maker and Andraste. The Chantry is the church spreading the word, the Chant of Light, to bring the Maker back to Thedas.”

“Yes, but the Chantry also forbids the use of blood magic as mages can use the ability to summon demons or control people.”

I shuddered at the comment of controlling people. I could see why the Chantry would ban the practice. It was practically a super weapon. If a mage had the chance, they could control very powerful individuals, not just some random woman in prison, making the one holding the spell unstoppable. As for the demon, images of the monster in the Otherworld with the smile too wide to be human sprang up.

“Alright, I get it,” I said, feeling suddenly terrified of leaving. Even with Soris teaching me for a year there were too many things I did not know about this world. A world I would have to stay in until I found a way home. Noticing my discomfort, Soris took the last slice of cheese and handed it to me.

“It’s going to be okay, Quinn,” he said, giving me a small smile. “Remember, we need to get to my home first. We can work out everything else once we recovered.”

“And what do we tell your family?”

“I think we’ll scrape by with what you told me. You were kidnapped by a mage from a small village far from Denerim. I don’t think they’ll ask for more information.”

“And if they do? Should I claim memory loss due to being tortured for a year since I’m not allowed to mention blood magic?”

Soris grimaced. “I would save that for other people. My family won’t press because you’re my friend and I’ll tell them not to.”

“We’re friends?”

“Well, I figured after everything that happened we’re probably a bit too close to be just acquaintances.”

“I didn’t want to assume. Being friends, that is,” I said sheepishly. “A dungeon isn’t really the best place to build relationships.”

Soris laughed. “Maybe, but I think our situation is a little different from what usually happens in dungeons.”

“You mean Thedas doesn’t have people from other worlds dropping in due to crazy blood mages?” I asked, in mock surprise grabbing the wine to finish off the last bit out of the bottle.

“Not that I know. I’m sure the Chantry would have written it down somewhere after they burned the person at the stake to ensure any possibility of possession is destroyed.”

I choked on the wine.

Soris laughed. “Easy, your secret is safe with me. It’s not like anyone would listen to an elf anyway. If you actually do turn out to be possessed in the end, I’ll probably help you with whatever evil task you want to do. But, I am drawing the line at hunting down a child for her shoes. No enchantment is worth that.”

“They belonged to the witch’s sister,” I said, smiling, and feeling happier than I had in a long time. Soris returned the smile and stood up, stretching.

“I think we rested enough,” He said looking around while holding the little key in his hand. “We need to…” Soris trailed off, his eyes focused on an area near the fireplace.

Blending in with the wooden bookshelves was a large rack holding a myriad of weapons ranging from spears to swords. Prominently displayed in the center was a pair of beautiful twin daggers. The blades, polished to perfection, were long with upswept tips. The hilts a deep red and embellished with silver on the pommel and guard.

Entranced, he walked over to the weapons and carefully took them off the stand. I made a move to join him, but upon hearing him mumble, “I’m sorry” under his breath while he held the blades in his hands made me rethink the action. Leaving him alone, I walked towards the corpse. Soris had mentioned female clothing, and since my own pajamas turned to rags long ago, I was due for some new attire. Stepping around the body, I made my way to the clothing pile by the discarded breastplate and shield.

Apparently, Cousland let the woman go before fighting the guard, as there was no other body in the room. A bit embarrassing as the woman had gotten far enough with her little seduction, she had to escape wearing only her underwear, leaving behind a pale blouse, leather vest, and a drab green skirt. There were shoes as well, but it was possible that nothing here would fit me seeing as I was a lot thinner now. Even so, I grabbed the coverlet off the bed and rolled the clothes and shoes into a makeshift sack. There was no guarantee I would be able to find clothes later.

A screech of wood and iron made me turn and find Soris trying to lift the lid on the large chest. Both daggers lay secured on his back by a harness too big for him; the straps in danger of slipping off his shoulders. I quickly tied the ends of the cloth across my front then ambled over to help. The lid was heavier than I expected, but together we managed to get it all the way open. Looking inside, I could see why the chest was so secure.

Coins in different sizes lay huddled in the chest ranging from gold, silver, and copper. Heavy tomes, delicately embroidered linens, pieces of jewelry, and silk clothing in various colors made up the rest of the chest’s contents. Picking up one of the gold coins, I trace the minted caricature of a massive dog standing on its hind legs with its arms out stretched as if to pounce on some unsuspecting prey.

Soris let out a small sigh at the treasure and said, “We can’t take them.”

I dropped the coin and stared at him in shock. Was he serious?

“Why? I may not know much about the currency of this place, but—”

“You’re right. You don’t know much about the currency here.” He picked up a gold piece. “Many go through their entire lives without ever seeing one of these. A sovereign. It takes a hundred silver coins to equal one and even more for copper bits—”

“Which means it’s more than enough to get you and your family someplace to live in peace,” I said closing my hand over his, the gold coin cool against my skin. “Come on, Soris…”

Soris shook his head, and gently dislodged my hand from his. “No, Quinn.”

“Then how about we take only a couple gold coins?” I asked, not ready to concede defeat.

“Where you’re from, do you have to worry about how you acquired your money?” He asked.

Confused as to where he was going with this, I answered, “It depends.”

Soris smiled but there was no humor in it.

“I can tell you that an elf and a woman escaping from the dungeon of an arl would not make it far carrying enough gold to feed a large family for a year. Even if we did, people would start to ask questions as to how we had gotten so much money when elves are barely paid and you have no job.”

“We tell people I’m from a rich family, then. And not spend everything at once.” Thedas had banks right? Or at least moneychangers.

“People will want to know who is your family is and the reason why you’re in the company of elves.”

“I think your imaginary interrogators have too much time on their hands wondering about things that isn’t their business,” I said, getting tired of all this back and forth. It was clear Soris wanted nothing to do with the gold for fear of reprisal. Though based on what he told me, it was justified. I sighed in frustration.

“Fine, you win,” I said, petulant. Soris let out a short laugh and stood up.

“Stick with copper and maybe one or two of the silver coins. Leave the gold behind,” he said, walking towards the door. The firelight gave the hilt of the daggers across his back a beautiful glow.

“So, the daggers won’t make any heads turn, then? They look quite valuable.”

“And I’m covered in enough blood to make other people think twice about them. Copper and silver only, Quinn,” he said, not sparing me a glance.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a small leather pouch near the coins and filled it with the all the copper bits and couple silver coins. Taking one last look at the remaining treasure, I wondered what else would be in store for me, and lowered the top of the chest taking care not to slam it.

Standing up, I made my way to Soris who had his ear to the door. It was still a shock seeing the long pointed ears and I doubt it would change anytime soon. I did wonder if they gave an elf a better sense of hearing. Soris brought up a finger to his lips and slowly opened the door.

The corridor was clear. No one was moving about and the faint echo of metal on stone was gone. Taking my hand, Soris led the way down the long hallway and through the palace . Luckily, there was no one around save for corpses of guards and large hounds. Eventually, we made our way outside breathing in the crisp night air. Crickets chirped and I breathed in the scent of freshly turned dirt that housed beautiful flowerbeds and shrubbery. Unfortunately, there was no time to sit and admire the grounds as Soris pushed me forward down a dirt path until we reached a trio of large bushes that hid a surprisingly large hole in the wall. Crawling through, we ran into the city heading to Soris’ home and hopefully a way on how I could return to mine.

 


	5. Alienage Redux

When Soris described his life in the Alienage, I pictured a humble community of elves working together despite the cruel treatment they received from humans. However, stepping into the district the reality was worse than what Soris depicted. The neighborhood made the bad parts of town we trekked through to avoid the city guards’ look respectable.

The buildings were nothing more than wooden shacks stacked on one another; two, maybe three stories tall, and they could barely stand on their own without stilts making some of them tilt in odd directions like unsteady toy blocks. Thin livestock milled about, nibbling on small patches of grass or low hanging laundry stretched across buildings. Dirt paths replaced the clean stone roads of the city, broken occasionally by large puddles of water, making the whole area smell like compost and mildew.

The only redeeming quality to the place was the main square where a great and beautiful tree stood surrounded by small offerings. A wooden stage lay close decorated in cheerful streamers making me believe even in such squalor; the elves had a place to celebrate.

Continuing down the dirt path past a few dingy shops, we came to the final batch of houses. The last house on the lane was as run down as the others with no discerning features, but Soris’ expression told me this one was home. After a bit of hesitation, he raised a fist and knocked on the door, loud enough for any inside occupants, and probably nearby neighbors, to hear.

Silence.

Soris knocked again, harder, and I began to worry. Due to the circumstances surrounding Soris’ imprisonment, it was possible his family had moved…

Before I could move to stop his blows from continuing, footsteps creaked from behind the door, followed by metal moving out of place. Soris tensed as a young elven woman with a shock of bright red hair twisted into multiple tails opened the door. Tired eyes quickly sharpened as they roamed over us and I noticed her hand tighten on the door.

Crap, this was a bad idea. Here we were in the middle of the night, armed, and covered in blood. It would only be a matter of time until she screamed the place down for help. I reached out towards Soris, intent on dragging him away before things got hairy when he spoke.

“Shianni…”

The name fell between them like a prayer and the woman’s eyes widened in shock. Soris trembled next to me. The silence stretched on until a weary voice from inside the home made both elves jump.

“Shianni, who is it?”

An older elf with graying hair, shuffled into view to stand beside the woman. Eyes a copy of Soris’ gray stared at me in alarm and fear until his gaze slid over to Soris. A rattling exhale told me he was in the same state of shock as his younger companion. All three elves stared at one another in silence, and I waited for someone to make the first move. The redhead, Shianni, reacted first.

“They told us you died,” she whispered, unable to tear her gaze from Soris’ face.

“I almost did,” Soris said as his hands moved ready to pull both elves into an embrace, but stopped, finally remembering the state of his appearance. Walking the city at night covered in blood was an excellent deterrent for the city’s shadier denizens, not so much for hugging long lost family. Luckily, Soris’ appearance did not bother the old elf in the slightest as he gave a loud cry of joy and threw his arms around Soris’ shoulders.

“Uncle Cyrion,” Soris breathed, and I heard the elf crying faintly into Soris’ soiled tunic.

A door squeaked open close by grabbing both Shianni’s and my attention. I prepared myself for what would probably be a spectacular homecoming for Soris once his neighbors and the rest of his community found out he had returned, however to my surprise, Shianni quickly strode past the two men.

“Uncle, take Soris inside,” she said, giving them a push towards the open doorway until the older elf complied. I followed the two close behind catching a surprised but sharp look from the woman who could do nothing more than move aside as she went to answer the neighbor about the noise.

Stepping over the threshold, I took in the sights of Soris ’childhood home. The main room held only a table and chairs. Any more furniture would have made the space too cramped for the inhabitants to move around easily. The only source of light came from a shallow hearth surrounded by wooden shelves holding a wide range of household items from clay dishes to candles. Despite the meager furnishings, the home had a certain charm to it the palace lacked.

The door closing behind me brought back my concentration to the matter at hand. I turned to see Shianni staring at me. Ah, right. I was an interloper who muscled her way inside the family’s home. Before the elf could any questions, Soris grabbed everyone’s attention by removing the harness across his back. The hilts of the daggers glowed red under the firelight as he presented them to his uncle who had gone still at the sight of the weapons.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Soris whispered, his hands shaking. “I—I didn’t bring her back.”

The old elf old elf took the daggers, cradling them as though they were a small child, his face pale with grief. Shianni quickly made her way over to her uncle’s side, hands reaching up to steady him, but her gaze lay on the weapons in his hands. Memories of Soris telling me about his childhood made my heart heavy as I realized he held his cousin’s daggers, the only thing the family would have to remember her by.

“But,” Soris said his voice hard and making the other two look up. “I did give her peace in the next life.” He took out the knife from his belt holding it out to his family showing the blade still coated in Vaughan’s blood. “He won’t be harming our family again.”

Shianni gaped at the dagger in shock. “He’s dead? How?”

“With Quinn’s help,” he said, gesturing to me. Both Shianni and Cyrion looked at me, astonishment written over both their faces.

I shrugged, trying to hold back the nausea as the memory, keeping a tight grip on my makeshift bundle. “Soris was the one who did the deed. I just…made sure he couldn’t escape.”

“You stood up to your own kind? For an elf?” Shianni asked, surprise shifting into doubt.

Based on what Soris told me about elves and seeing how the guards treated him, I could see why she did not readily believe in me. Still, being lumped together with Vaughan simply because we were both human left a bad taste in my mouth.

“I’m pretty sure the only thing he and I had in common was being imprisoned in the same dungeon.”

Cyrion closed his eyes at the news of Vaughan’s demise murmuring something too low for me to hear. Then he, mindful of the daggers, reached out and pulled his nephew into another hug.

“I never blamed you, Soris,” he said, voice thick with tears. “I know she didn’t.”

Soris could no longer hold himself back and returned the embrace. Shianni joined the two, leaving me to watch the reunion with equal parts happiness and longing.

Soon, I promised myself. Soon I too would be able to hug my family and leave this place behind me. After a few more moments, the elves broke away and Shianni turned to me. She looked uncomfortable addressing me, but her voice held true sincerity.

“Thank you.”

I was at a loss. I could not say I was against the idea of killing Vaughan in the first place, and my holding him was a means of getting him back into his cell. Luckily, Shianni coughed to break the awkward silence.

“Well, now that you helped Soris come home; you’ll want to get back to your own family, right? We can give you some food for the road as a show of thanks. It’s not as good as what you’re probably used to but—”

“She’s staying with us, cousin,” Soris said, handing the bloodied knife to his uncle who placed it on the table next to Tabris’ daggers.

Shianni stared at her cousin in confusion. “Why?”

“She has nowhere else to go.”

“Really?” She said, dubious. Soris started to respond, but I cut him off.

“I was kidnapped by one of the mages in the palace,” I said, gaining both of their attention. “My home is…too far to make it back right now. Soris offered me a place to stay until I recovered and get my bearings.”

Shianni opened her mouth and closed it. I could see the idea of having a human living under her family’s roof did not sit well with her. Not wanting to be the cause of strife between the two when they found each other again, I made a decision.

“Look, this is obviously not something you’re comfortable with.” I gripped the ends of the sack tighter. “I would be glad for any food you can spare and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Quinn, no one is throwing you out,” Soris said, giving his cousin a look. “It’s no trouble for you to stay with us.”

“But…” I trailed off, looking at Soris trying to get him to see it would be all right. I knew the language, and if Soris did not mind parting with a few of the coins, a bit of money. Everything a girl needed to survive in a place with demons, blood mages, and a church with a harsh dogma…

Before either cousin or I could say anything else, the old elf stepped into the conversation.

“Quinn, was it?” He asked, giving me a warm smile. “We elves rarely receive any kindness from humans and rarer do we call each other friends. As Soris said, it is no trouble for you to stay with us.”  
“I—,” An itch ran across my scalp, making me pause to reach up and scratch. Moving fast, Shianni grabbed my wrist before it made contact.

“Don’t! You probably have fleas and I am not washing everything in this house again. Come on,” she said, grudgingly, pulling me towards the door and making me drop my sack. “Let’s at least get you both cleaned up before we continue arguing about what to do.”

Shianni dragged me outside after checking to confirm no one was out, still curious about the earlier disturbance. Soris followed behind along with Cyrion who brought two stools for us. Curious on how a couple elves were planning to wash away over a years’ worth of filth, I handed Shianni the dagger I still had tied to my waist, slightly uneasy.

She ducked back into the house while Cyrion grabbed a couple buckets by the doorway and walked towards the square. Knowing water was involved in the clean-up process helped me to relax enough to listen to Soris reassure me no one was going to send me away. I felt better until Shianni came back outside with a wooden bowl full of disturbing looking tools. Seeing my reaction made her smile, showing teeth.

O0O

It was not as bad as I thought even when Shianni took out a pair of crude looking scissors and told me to “keep still.” Watching as clumps of hair fell around me depressed me a bit. I had hoped to be able to comb out whatever my hair had morphed into, but it was not to be. The feeling evaporated when she passed the scissors to her uncle to use on Soris when he returned and took out a sharp knife. It was getting harder and harder to keep still as she shaved the remainder of my hair until nothing more than fuzz remained, but I managed. Unfortunately, she did not stop there.

Having lice apparently meant nearly all body hair must go. It was a good my modesty disappeared some time ago, as shucking off my old pajamas turned rags would have been mortifying.

Eventually, Shianni declared me nit free. My prize for good behavior was a handful of rough soap with the texture of gooey sand, a bucket of water, and a coarse brush. I had to enlist in Shianni’s help as I started to feel my strength ebbing away by the minute. Whatever had been in the potion had worn off and I was starting to feel a bit woozy.

Sensing the change, Shianni quickly finished helping me wash and had me sitting at the table after fetching me a blanket to cover myself. Wrapped in warm wool, I smiled at Soris when he came in sporting a shaved head and cleaner appearance while his uncle went to grab another blanket. I must have dozed off shortly after because someone shook my shoulder. I smelled the food before I even opened my eyes.

A small bowl sat in front of me filled with a watery broth and bits of root vegetables floating on the surface. Slurping on my left let me know Soris was already eating. Following his example, I started to eat, drinking the warm broth while Shianni and her uncle made sure we did not gorge ourselves on the food.

Once finished, Cyrion handed us a small stick with straw threaded through as Shianni cleared the table. It took me a moment to realize I was looking at a toothbrush. I gleefully dunked the straw head into a small jar holding a strong smelling white paste I identified as sage and set to work.

Luckily, my teeth had not rotted away in prison. At least they did not feel like they had. I checked daily using my limited water to swish out food after eating and using a few small bones from the rats as a toothpick. I teared up using the brush anyway, from the pain of actively brushing my teeth after so long, and because I was able to brush my teeth after so long.

Shianni returned to the table bearing two cups, passing them to Soris and I. A strange plant or weed lay on the bottom. Taking an experimental sniff, I smelled the familiar combination of mint and cinnamon. I stared at the cup, confused; until Soris explained it was similar to what we drank in the palace calling the plant inside an elfroot.

Taking a sip, the liquid tingled, soothing my gums rubbed raw by the straw brush. Drinking the water, I listened as Soris answered questions from his family about his captivity. Shianni looked at me in shock me when Soris mentioned how I shared my food with him even after he showed me proof of his elven ethnicity.

Soris continued answering questions the best he could omitting the more risky details of our incarceration, but Shianni seemed hard pressed to ask me about my treatment in prison. She had trouble with me receiving better food than her cousin and gaining the attention of a mage. I pointedly nodded to the mage’s knife still on the table while rubbing my arms claiming his attention was never welcome.

Soris shot me a worried look and I could tell he was trying to figure out a way to salvage the situation, seeing as we had agreed to leave out mentions of blood magic, said or unsaid. He need not have bothered. Shianni looked horrified, but also apologetic, especially when her uncle gave her a look of disappointment.

Now two more people had a general idea of what happened to me while imprisoned. I should have been worried, but I truly did not care. If the information made it easier for his family to accept me, so be it. Besides, it was not as though I told them I was not from Thedas. That information I would keep silent and I knew Soris would too, as he changed the topic to how we escaped.

While both elves were surprised to hear of a Grey Warden in the city due to a bounty on their heads, they were grateful of the timing. However, discussing Cousland’s antics with Vaughan made Shianni leave the table to the only other room in the house. Cyrion remained, face pale, but eyes piercing until the story crowned when Vaughan’s bribe fell through.

Soris wasted no words in describing Vaughan in his final moments. Shianni returned, standing in the doorway of the other room, listening to Soris’s words as he told of the man’s near escape and my effort in restraining him. When Soris finished, the only sound came from the crackling flames of the fire.

Hearing everything that happened, broken down into words was bizarre. I almost did not want to believe it even though I lived through it all. The scars on my arms and sitting in a house belonging to a family of elves, wrapped in a blanket reinforced the reality of the story.

A cough brought back my attention to everyone at the table. Cyrion smiled at me.

“Again,” he said. “Please accept my thanks for what you have done for my nephew and…my daughter. I know you said your home is out of reach, but I have, shall I say, friends in high places. Once you recover, I would be happy to help you find your way back home.”

My heart sped up. Home. Soris did say he would help me as long as it did not involve blood magic. Adding his uncle to the mix would give me a stronger guarantee of making the promise a certainty. I practically danced in my chair at the old elf’s words.

“Thank you! Yes — I would appreciate any help you could offer. If there is anything, anything, I can do—”

“There is,” Shianni interjected, striding back to the table. “Since you don’t have a problem with elves you’ll be our connection to the humans.”

“Connection? For what? ” I asked, confused.

“A lot has happened here in the Alienage while you both were imprisoned,” Shianni said.

Soris sat looking between Shianni and his uncle, his expression worried. “What happened?”

Cyrion closed his eyes as Shianni told us of a small massacre sometime after Soris had been declared dead. After the debacle of the wedding had passed, many elves were ashamed of not coming to the grooms’ aid. It had gotten worse once the crown regent Loghain Mac Tir tightened his control over the city along with Arl Howe. The elves, already feeling oppressed, rose up against the crowns new limitations. They did well for a few weeks, causing enough of a problem until a unit of Howe’s soldiers stepped into the Alienage.

Unfortunately, it was just the beginning.

Barely given time to bury their dead, a strange sickness spread throughout the community killing dozens. The elves unsure of what to do received a strange group of men who came to the Alienage to offer aid. Claiming to come on behalf of the king regent as an apology for Howe’s actions, many elves were distrustful at first. At least until some families willing to chance it gave their loved ones to the men only to have them returned home cured of the disease. Shortly after the news spread, the elves open their arms to the newcomers — all except a small group to include Shianni and her uncle.

“Couldn’t the group actually be trying to help?” I asked, trying to see a bright side to her tale.

Shianni gave me a cold stare. “The only thing those humans are trying to help are themselves.”

“Ok, but to what end? Healing people isn’t exactly an evil act.”

Shianni sighed. “It didn’t appear that way, at first. The problem came when they began asking for those who showed symptoms to report to their hospice. No one comes back out once they go in.”

That got my eyebrows shooting up. “No one? Not even to let people check on their family or loved one’s progress.”

Shianni shook her head. “The humans claim the disease is easy to catch. We’ve seen the sickness spread fast enough it’s probably true. What I and a few others don’t like is the timing.”

“You mean after a massacre the elven population gets hit with a lethal disease only to have a group of humans show up with a cure?”

“Exactly!” She said, pleased. “Glad to see you’re more than just a human who took pity on an elf.”

I snorted. “Hardly. I’m pretty sure Soris was the one who took pity on me. I don’t do well in dungeons.”

“Who does? Either way, pity or not, you understand something is wrong. For us to help you get home, you have to help us get our people back.”

I nodded. Fair enough. I did not have a clue what Shianni believed I could accomplish, but it could not hurt to try. I looked to Soris to see if he could covertly let me know if I was in over my head, as he had not said anything at all throughout the explanation. But, looking at his face made me shrink back in my chair.

Soris had an intense stare not unlike the one he wore in the dungeon directed at his uncle. The old elf, to his credit, did not back down an inch. Shianni finally noticed the tension in the room between her uncle and cousin. Nervously, we both waited for an outburst that was certain to happen. Instead, of an outburst, however, it was a whisper.

“Where is Valora?”

Soris’s voice made both elves flinch. Cold dread set in my skin, making me clutch the blanket tighter around me. Please do not let his wife be dead…

Cyrion closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Soris,” he whispered. “She was taken to the hospice a week ago.”

Soris’ voice brooked no argument. “We’re getting her back.”

“That’s the plan,” Shianni said, relaxing a fraction. “Her and the other elves, but we’ll need Quinn to go into the city to—”

“No. Now,” Soris said, getting shakily to his feet. Shianni hurried to his side.

“The Alienage is locked down, Soris,” she said, trying to get him to sit back in his chair. “Elves are not allowed to roam the city per the crown regents’ orders. Normally we’d ignore it, but with more nobles wandering around—”

“Fuck the nobles!” Soris yelled, trying to get out of Shianni’s grasp. “Why do we even need to go into the city? The humans came into our home and rounded everyone up. My wife is trapped in a Maker’s damned hospice surrounded by the sick and dying and you expect me to do nothing?”

“You think Uncle Cyrion and I have been sitting on our asses?” Shianni shouted. “We’ve been trying to keep as many elves away from the hospice to prevent the situation from getting worse!”

“All but my wife, apparently,” Soris seethed. Shianni recoiled as though Soris had slapped her. I could tell from her reddening face that she was seconds from lashing out, but Cyrion interrupted her.

“Soris,” he began, sitting straighter in his chair, but looked ashamed as his nephew turned to face him.

“After everything that happened you were supposed to protect her in my stead,” Soris said.

Cyrion closed his eyes. “I know.”

Soris let out a bitter laugh, thin shoulders shaking. “I probably shouldn’t have expected much, especially when her protection comes from a drunk and an old man.”

“Soris!”

I do not think anyone else was more surprised by my shout than I was, but it had the right effect. Soris looked ashamed, but his words still affected the other two elves greatly. Cyrion appeared to age by the minute, the joy of his nephew’s return spoilt by the news of his wife while Shianni fumed. With more control than I would credit her for, Shianni pushed Soris back carefully into his seat.

“Everything you want to do, we’ve already thought of, Soris,” she said, quietly. “The healers are mages surrounded by armed soldiers. They would slaughter us if we tried to rise up against them. Andraste’s ass, our own people fight us!”

“Is that why you didn’t want to let the neighbor know Soris came back?” I asked, remembering the rush to get him inside.

Shianni nodded. “Our people want nothing more than to see their loved ones again. If word got out that Soris is alive, they would turn him over to the regents soldiers. Anything to get their family cured ahead of the rest—”

“No,” Soris said, shaking his head. “The others wouldn’t—”

“We’ve seen it happen already with Alarith, Soris! Maker, it would have happened to Cyrion and I had Valendrian not stepped in.” Shianni gave me a pleading look. “You’re the only one who can move freely in the city due to being human which is why we need your help.”

She must have put together this plan just now because she certainly was not thinking of using me when I first arrived. But that was before she understood what I did for Soris and what I would do for the chance to get home. However, what I needed to do in the city eluded me. As though reading my thoughts Soris spoke.

“And what is Quinn supposed to do when she goes out into the city?” Soris asked, his voice betraying his weariness. “Uncle said it earlier: few are kind to elves. If anyone finds out that Quinn is trying to help us they’ll turn on her too.”

The mood in the room dimmed as the other two realized the impossibility of receiving aid. Shianni started to mutter under her breath and pace the room. Soris sat numbly in his chair, ears still red from his outburst. Cyrion sat staring at nothing. These people had lost family and were going to lose more if something did not happen. If only Cousland had come earlier…

“That’s it,” I said, a plan beginning to form in my head. Everyone looked at me, puzzled.

“What’s it?” asked Shianni.

“Cousland. The Grey Warden, the one who rescued us,” I said, feeling giddy.

“What about him?” Soris said, puzzled.

“Remember? Vaughan said how the two men Howe and Loghain were planning an elven uprising?”

“Yes…but it already happened—”

“So you said” I interrupted. “But Soris, remember Cousland is trying to stop them with a La—Lans—”

“The Landsmeet?” Soris supplied.

“Yes! And since the elven uprising was part of the plot…” I ventured.

“Then it would be in his interest to help us,” Soris said, eyes alighting with excitement. “If only to find proof it happened.”

Life seeped back into Cyrion’s face at the good news. Elves would be able to receive the help they desperately needed. Oddly, Shianni looked skeptical.

“Not to ruin the moment, but how are you planning on finding the Grey Warden? He’s probably in hiding due to the bounty on his head.”

“His companions,” Soris answered. “One was probably a Qunari. Not many of them running around Denerim.”

“And there’s Alistair, as well,” I threw in. “He was wearing gold armor, remember. It’s flashy enough; someone must have seen him walking around.”

I could have mentioned the woman as well, but with a giant —Qunari— and Alistair it would be more than enough to find Cousland.

Shianni nodded. “Okay. That’s,” she laughed, “that’s good. Much better than trying to bribe some cutthroats to make trouble.”

“And what were you planning on bribing them with?” Soris asked, curious.

“Seeing as you didn’t bring any gold with you,” She said, giving Soris a pointed look. Shianni had taken Soris’ reluctance of grabbing the gold coins badly. “I figured the armor and weapons the humans were carrying would be enough of a prize. It looks really well made.”

Soris snorted. “Right, and after they declared themselves our new overlords?”

“Shut up. Be happy Quinn remembered your savior or we’d be going through with the plan.”

Just like that, the stress from our release and earlier outburst evaporated. With renewed hope, Cyrion declared it was time for everyone to retire to bed.

Shianni motioned me to follow her to the other room while Soris stayed behind talking quietly to his uncle. It was smaller than the main room, but managed to fit two sets of beds inside, one bunk and one small double. A chest sat against the wall where Shianni rummaged around and gave me a shift to throw on so we could share the blanket I used to cover myself.

Being taller, the shift barely managed to cover everything important instead of flowing past my knees like the one Shianni wore. She motioned for me to climb into the double bed and followed in shortly after. Before long, Soris and Cyrion came in and took over the remaining two bunks. A flurry of whispered goodnights later everyone fell fast asleep.

Everyone except me.

I could blame it on the bed itself, as I was used to a cold stone floor and not a soft mattress made of hay, but I knew better. I was wired and ready to go.

My imagination played out the outcome of the plan. Cousland would arrive in the Alienage with his companions wreaking havoc and freeing all those imprisoned. Soris would be reunited with his wife, and I would be on my way home.

Eventually, my body began to relax and sinking into the warm comfort of a bed after being denied one for so long. Tomorrow, we would put together a plan to find Cousland’s companions. The sooner we did, the sooner I could go home. I felt myself smiling before succumbing to dreams of what I would do when I was back in my own world free of demons and magic.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but guess what? 
> 
> We are now all caught up with the revised chapters which means the next one will be completely new. Woohoo! Thanks for hanging in there everyone. I know it has not been easy with the crazy schedule and constant delays. Hopefully, you are all still enjoying the story. 
> 
> I just ask that you let me know if you find any errors or mistakes. I will be more than happy to make corrections :)


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